


A Hobbit's Honor

by EverydayMagic17



Series: Hobbit Shorts [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Dwarrow culture, F/M, Female Bilbo, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Long-Lived Hobbits, Pregnancy, Thranduil squees, but I had to fix the whole life-span issue, dwarves are baby-crazy, fem bilbo, not that it actually comes up, pregnant hobbits are scary, so are elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverydayMagic17/pseuds/EverydayMagic17
Summary: A hobbit's honor didn't lie in great deeds, or obedience; it lay in protecting friends and family, despite themselves, no matter the cost. Her dwarves knew that when they adopted her, and ensured that Bilba Baggins knows her rights, as they stood amongst dwarrow. So when some loud-mouthed nobles with Dain's army burst into her tent the day before the battle, she is very much *not* putting up with more nonsense, thank-you-very-much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Un-Beta'd

Bard was sitting with Gandalf in the tent King Thranduil had given over to the hobbit, Bilba Baggins, ostensibly because the tiny, stubborn woman refused the bodyguard the elf-king insisted was her due, (solely to provoke the dwarves Dain Ironfoot had with him, Bard was quite certain), but mostly because they were the only two individuals besides his own offspring that didn't treat him differently after the whole 'Dragonslayer' thing. The awe-filled stares and reverent whispers from Men, Elves *and* dwarves- erm...dwarrow, as Bilba insisted was the correct plural- , not to mention the sudden deference from people he'd known his whole life was jarring, and rattling his nerves.  
Therefore, the bargeman-turned-reluctant-king was in the best possible position to see the events that went down in legend, in Erebor and Dale alike, standing, facing the entrance. There was a commotion outside the canvas, the clattering of well-armed-and-armored dwarves shoving past the elven sentries, and a burly dwarf, with white braids that had a few strands of brown left, burst into the tent, almost ripping the flap.  
"You! Trai-" The bull-throated bellow ended in a yelp as a carves stone paperweight in the shape of a badger flew to take him in the temple. There was a crash as the dwarf hit the ground, semi-conscious at best, two more dwarves almost tripping on him. Everyone turned to look at the curly haired lass, still seated at the table-cum-desk that a large sandwich had been ensconced on less than ten minutes earlier. Bilba blinked large moss-green eyes, a look of bemusement.  
"I only meant to get his attention, so he'd shut up," she shrugged helplessly, "I guess his head isn't as hard as my Durins'," Lord Dain burst into a roar of gut-laughter.  
"Lass, *no one* has heads as hard as a Durin. I should know, since I am one!"  
"My Lord, you shouldn't bandy words with the traitorous bitch! Just execute her for the King, and be done with it!" The dwarf with the ostentatiously ornate gold beads and the nasal voice whined. Bard pointedly drew an arrow, and held it to his bow, nocked but not drawn, while the wizard's fingers tightened on his staff, ominously.  
"Dwarrow, so hasty to judge. I hoped that was just Thorin, but..." Bilba sighed, then stood, clapping on hand to the hilt of her elven dagger, the other to an obviously dwarven short-sword, and tossed her hair over her shoulder, except for three braids, hung with dwarven beads.  
"I am Bilba Baggins, of the Children of Yavannah; Heart-Daughter of Balin, Son of Fundin, Chief Royal Advisor of Erebor; Owed Life-debt by Thorin Oakenshield; Slayer of Azog's White Warg; Dragon-Riddler; Lucky Number; and Wife and One to Fili, Crown Prince of Erebor. More importantly, this hobbit lass is tired, has sore ankles and is desperately hungry due to being about two months pregnant, despite every precaution, most of which time I was on short ratons by necessity." There was a stunned silence.  
"Pregnant?!" Gandalf asked,seeming to grow taller as shadows gathered, even as the dwarrow paled, the prone one looking particularly nervous. The sound of swearing was remarably universal in tone, no matter the language. Bard really didn't envy the dwarf-king when the wizard finally had him within reach.  
"Yes, pregnant. And Thorin's Kinswoman by Adoption and Marriage. Meaning, that if I were less forgiving of the fact Thorin was suffering from Gold-sickness, and is likely now suffering from my father's lectures, my uncle's axes, and my husband's beating, amongst other punishments he'll have to endure, I could, by your own laws, demand you bring me anything from his beard and braids, to the hand that struck me, to his family jewels or his head. You would have to oblige me," Bilba said, settling back down, to eat her fourth piece of lembas. The Bowman had a shrewd suspicion that the 'family jewels' had nothing to do with the arAenstone, being of a rather more...euphemistic nature.  
"...My cousin is a moron." Dain groaned.  
"I figure ensuring he stays alive long enough for my mother-in-law to get her hands on him is suitable. Afterall, Dis gave me lovely ideas on how to punish overly-greedy relatives during our yearly trade negotiations," the hobbit had a placidly malicious look, as the dwarrow went pale.  
"Evil, evil little dam... Fili has fine taste. Dis with certainly ensure that her brother suffers dearly." the Lord of the Iron Hills sounded approving, awed, mildly terrorized, and a bit infatuated with the blonde female. Bard had heard several tales of the Princess Dis, and rather thought she sounded like his late wife in temperament. If so... Thorin Oakenshield would probably rather not survive the upcoming battle. Good.  
"Now that we've established that I'm not a traitor, simply a hobbit trying to save her family... don't you lot have a battle to be planning?"

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas stared at his father, unable to believe he'd just heard the stoic king make the noise that was still ringing in his ears. A quick glance around the healing tent where Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews were lying in cots, badly injured but alive, showed that no, it had not, as he'd hoped, been his imagination that Thranduil had let out the shrillest, most piercing squeal of delighted joy he'd ever had the misfortune of having abuse his hearing. Seemingly just because Bilba Baggins had just accidentally brushed fingers with hm when passing him a roll of bandages to treat Legolas' arrow-pierced arm.  
"You're PREGNANT!" Thranduil squeaked, dropping to his knees in front of the hobbit, the damage to his son that'd had him in threatening to march on every orc stronghold, just seconds before, completely forgotten. Thoroughly traumatized, Legolas was more than willing to let the wide-eyed Dragonslayer bandage the minor wound, while his father, and every other elven healer in the tent, began fussing at the increasingly irritated Bilba. Legolas knew, intellectually, that his father hadn't been around a pregnant woman since Legolas' own mother had carried him, but... this was ridiculous. Of course... maybe the fact that he was the elf most likely to interact with the far more fertile mortals, he'd been desensitized.  
"ENOUGH! If there is no more healing to be immediately done here, I suggest the lot of you tend you myriad of other patients rather than harassing me when I just want tu curl around my husband and sleep for a fortnight. If you *must* get a baby-fix, there are at least a dozen pregnant women in the Esgaroth refugees. I'm certain King Bard would be delighted to introduce you to them, and the seven or eight infants," Legolas watched Bard gulp, and flee unrepentantly as the rest of the elves gave chase, with a hunting cry of "Show us the babies!", hot on his heels.

**Author's Note:**

> I am challenging myself to write a short story pairing Bilbo or Fem-Bilbo with all the unmarried dwarrow in the company. Prompts for any given pairing are quite welcome, as is constructive criticism, and/or a beta-reader. Flames will be used to keep my dragon-egg warm until it hatches.


End file.
